Having spent three hours in a bar in Old Street, Julian Sewell was too drunk to notice he was being followed home. Even if he had been sober on the walk back to his flat in Hoxton, he would not have heard the purr of the prestige vehicle following two hundred feet behind him. Julian’s mind was too full of other things. He was still celebrating his new position at Dreamscape Construction. He had the world at his feet and the phone numbers of two pretty girls in his pockets. He had no intention of calling either of them, even though he had accepted the offer of oral sex in the toilet. He had no intention of bringing her home. He didn’t like women coming back to his flat. It was too intrusive, personal. He had allowed it once with Erin, but that was necessary. Ah, Erin. She had been a pretty good shag, he thought with a smirk. No, that little project hadn’t been at all unpleasant. Almost a shame when she had to go.
The quickest journey back to his flat off Hoxton Square was to nip up the dark, deserted backstreets that ran north from Old Street itself. For one of the most fashionable areas of London, he thought, some of these alleyways wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Jack the Ripper movie; you could almost smell the fog. There were a few spots of rain and Julian tutted as the droplets of water stained his tan leather jacket. He was still brushing at the drops when the footsteps caught up with him. Quickly, silently, an arm fastened itself around his neck, while a heavy boot kicked away his knees. Lying on the floor, the boot slammed into his face, again and again and again. The new vice president of Dreamscape Construction drifted out of consciousness, a trickle of blood oozing from his head onto the damp street. Quietly a Midas Corporation vehicle drove down the side street, turned into traffic and disappeared.
41
Karin loved her trips to Florence to visit the swimwear factories, especially in summer. Back in the office, she liked to pretend that her monthly trips to Italy were a chore that needed to be suffered but, as she drove through the lush green Italian countryside, how could she complain? Her routine was hardly backbreaking; she would check into her favourite room at the Lungarno Suites with its Tiffany blue walls and sun-dusted window, from which she could see the Duomo and taste the flower-fragranced air. She would then take the forty-five-minute drive out to the two factories, where she could cast over her perfectionist eyes over the manufacturing. After lunch with the factory manager, she would talk to the pattern cutters and the House models would try on her early prototypes, to which Karin would make the minor, crucial adjustments. Back in the city at night, she had a coterie of friends she loved seeing. The Italians had such a love of life, of food and, crucially, of gossip. They always had hilarious anecdotes about the backstabbing world of fashion.
Karin was particularly excited about this visit, as she put her foot down on the autostrada heading out east of the city, her radio tuned into cheesy Euro-pop. Today, she was due to see samples of the Cruise collection, which were due to be shown at the Miami Swim Show trade fair later that month. Business was booming: after Cameron Diaz had been photographed in a black Karenza bikini on holiday in Hawaii, there had been another surge in orders from Fred Segal, Barneys and Neiman Marcus. But she couldn’t rest on her laurels; she had to keep the brand moving forward.
Karin pulled into the car park of an anonymous-looking building in a small town in the Florentine countryside. It was usually packed full of Fiats, but today there was an eerie quiet about the place.
She walked to the main entrance and it appeared locked.
What the hell is going on? she thought, pulling out her mobile phone.
A small, thin-faced man in a pair of navy coveralls emerged from a side door.
‘Where is everyone?’ she asked in perfect Italian.
‘Where eez everyone?’ the man repeated back to her in English and threw his hands in the air. ‘At home, mia cara, today it is, a, a … how you say stop work?’ he asked.
‘A strike!’ She grimaced. She knew the Italians liked nothing better than a good strike, especially in summer or when there was an important football match on, but in five years of visiting Florence she had never been caught up in one.
‘Where is Giovanni?’ she asked.
‘He not contact you?’ asked the man. ‘The strike is today and tomorrow. We see you Monday, perhaps?’
There was no point in arguing or demanding to see Giovanni, who’d probably headed to his villa on the coast. She got back in the car, but felt anxious, drumming her fingers on the wheel. Much as she loved the laid-back Italian attitude, she just couldn’t adjust. Karin always wanted to be doing something. She ran through her schedule. She wasn’t due in Capri until Saturday morning, so she could get an afternoon flight back to London but, what the hell, seeing as she was in Italy, she might as well enjoy its sunshine and its splendour. She knew that Adam’s yacht was sailing down from Portofino where her boyfriend was buttering up some Italian investors on a corporate jolly. She could easily drive down to one of the ports along the way and join him. Or she could fly down to Naples and check into the Capri Palace Hotel for a couple of days; their famous leg treatments at the hotel spa were legendary all over Europe for keeping cellulite at bay. She picked up her phone.
‘Adam. It’s me.’
‘Hi, honey. How’s Florence? Another fabulous collection on your hands?’
‘I’d only know that if I could see it,’ she sighed. ‘There’s only a bloody strike. The factory is closed until Monday.’
Adam started to laugh. ‘I can see the fumes coming out of your ears from here.’
‘Where are you, anyway?’ asked Karin, wedging the mobile under her chin as she rejoined the traffic on the autostrada.
‘Still in Portofino. Just had some lunch at the Splendido. I can’t wait to see you.’
Karin could almost see his sexy smile beaming down the receiver. ‘Well, that’s why I’m ringing,’ said Karin. ‘It seems a waste to fly back to London when you’re here in Italy.’
‘What are you suggesting, Kay?’ She wasn’t sure but he suddenly sounded distracted.
‘That I join you on The Pledge.’
There was a pause and Karin felt a stab of annoyance.
‘Honey, this is business. It’s a bunch of dull investors, we’ll be talking shop. You’ll hate it.’
‘Don’t talk to me like some bloody bimbo,’ she sighed, veering suddenly away from the hard shoulder. ‘The boat’s big enough that I can keep out of your way.’
‘Kay. I’m not joking. Stay in Florence, go shopping, charge it to me. And I’ll see you on Saturday as planned.’
‘Fine.’ She tossed the phone on the passenger seat and pressed her foot to the floor of the car so it shot off like a rocket back towards Florence. There was something about his tone which worried her. ‘Charge it to me,’ he’d said. Well if he didn’t want her in on The Pledge, it was going to cost him.
Adam snapped the phone shut and turned over to face Summer, who was reclining on the top deck of The Pledge in a gold bikini that left very little to the imagination.